"Atiba, son of Balogun, bi owo eni ko te eku ida a ki ibere iku ti o pa baba eni!”
It was the ancient call to arms of Ife: "No man who has not grasped his sword can avenge the death of his father." But Atiba sensed there was a deeper, more personal message. The voice had now become that of Balogun himself, clearly, unmistakably. He felt his heart surge with shame.
Her last words were still ringing when a sphere of lightning slid down the centerpole of the roof and exploded against the iron mill. Rings of fire danced across the rollers and dense dark smoke billowed in the room. Atiba had already sprung to catch her as she slumped forward, sending her stone axe clattering across the packed floor.
' 'Olorun ayuba bai ye baye tonu . . ." Through the smoke he quickly began to intone a solemn acknowledgement to the Yoruba high god. Then he lifted her into his arms and pressed his cheek against hers as he led the men out.
She was only dimly aware of a whisper against her ear. "You are truly a woman of the Yoruba, and tonight you have brought us Shango's power. With him to help us, we will one day soon plant our yams where the branco's compounds stand."
As they started down the pathway, single file, the lightning had gone. Now there was only the gentle spatter of Caribbean rain against their sweating faces as they merged with the night.
[Chapter Ten]
As the bell on the Rainbowe struck the beginning of the first watch, Edmond Calvert stood on the quarterdeck studying the thin cup of crescent moon that hung suspended in the west. In another hour it would be gone and the dense tropical dark would descend. The time had arrived to commence the operation.
He reflected grimly on how it had come to this. The ultimate responsibility, he knew, must be laid at the door of a greedy Parliament. Before the monarchy was abolished, the American settlements had been the personal domain of the king, and they had suffered little interference from Commons. Scarce wonder Parliament's execution of Charles was received with so much trepidation and anger here—yesterday he'd heard that in Virginia the Assembly had just voted to hang anyone heard defending the recent "traitorous proceedings" in England. What these Americans feared, naturally enough, was that Parliament would move to try and take them over. They were right. And the richest prize of all was not Virginia, not Massachusetts, but the sugar island of Barbados. Why else had he been sent here first?